Causality Continued
by JanetD
Summary: This story picks up where “Causality” left off. It’s my take on what happens after Nick and Burton leave the bar.


Title: Causality Continued (1/1)  
Date Written: 1/24/02  
Author: JanetD  
Rating: PG (mild language)  
Summary: This story picks up where left off. It's my take on what happens after Nick and Burton leave the bar.   
Author's Notes: This story was written before aired, and we learned that Burton had taken Nick back to his house.  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters in this story are borrowed from the TV show "The Guardian". No money is being made from this story. Any resemblance of a character in this story to any person real living or dead is purely coincidental.   
  
Prologue: from   
It was 2:00AM on a Friday night, and Nick had just gotten into a fight with two guys in the Incline. They had him down on the floor kicking him when Burton came in from outside, and stopped the fight by threatening them with a broken bottle. The following conversation took place as Burton helped Nick to his feet.  
  
Burton: Nicholas, you okay? (as he bends down to Nick, and starts to roll him over onto his back)  
Nick: Ahh,Dad.... Dad, I just screwed up.  
Burton: I know. I know.   
Nick: I'm a screw-up.  
Burton: I can help you.   
Nick: I'm a screw-up!  
Burton: Come on. Let me help you. Get up. We'd better get out of here before the police come. Come on. Come on. That's it. (as he helped Nick to his feet).  
  
Burton bent down to grab Nick's suit jacket, and then helped his son walk to the door. Nick was partially bend over in pain, and making small whining sounds as they exited the bar.  
  
----+----  
  
Nick and Burton emerged from the bar, one arm clasped around each other's back. Nick was bent over, and clearly struggling to walk. Burton was supporting a majority of his son's weight.   
  
Hang on, Nicholas. It's not far. My car is just over here.   
  
They walked slowly toward the car, but hadn't gotten very far when Nick said urgently, Dad, I'm going to be sick. Burton looked around, and with no good options in sight, could only steer his son to the side of the building. Nick bent forward, rested one hand on the wall for support, and vomited. Burton turned his head away, but as soon as the retching sounds ended he offered his handkerchief, and asked, Okay now? Nick nodded weakly, and straightened back up.   
  
They made their way slowly to the car. Once inside, Nick bent forward in the seat with his arms wrapped around his middle. He was still uttering small groans of pain. Burton slid into the driver's seat, and asked, Do you think you're really hurt? Do you need to see a doctor, son? Nick shook his head, and muttered, Burton gazed at his son for a moment, wondering if he should take Nick to the ER anyway, but finally decided against it. He didn't think Nick was seriously hurt, and there might be questions asked he didn't want to answer.   
  
As Burton was about to start the car, Nick began to speak. His voice was still ragged with tears and pain. I'm sorry, Dad. I've messed everything up. I've messed it all up. The words shot straight to Burton's heart like a steel-tipped arrow. It's okay son. We'll work it out. We'll get through this, together.  
  
Burton started the car, and briefly debated taking Nick to his house, but Nick's apartment was much closer, and he knew his son would be more comfortable there. They made the five minute drive without incident. When they arrived, Burton helped Nick out of the car, and they headed for the front door of the apartment building. Nick was still leaning heavily on his father, but was more steady on his feet than before. However, without his coat, he shivered in the cold, January night.   
  
As they reached the front door Burton said, I need the keys, son. Nick fumbled at his pants pocket for a moment, and then pulled out the keys. As he did, a small ziploc packet slipped to the ground. Nick did not see it fall, but Burton did. He reached down to pick it up, and grimaced when he realized what it must contain. He placed it in his pocket anyway. Nick who had been cradling his aching head was totally unaware of what had just transpired. Burton unlocked the front door, and helped Nick to the elevator, then into his apartment. He fumbled for the light switch, and light flooded the room. Nick was still bent over, and in considerable pain. Burton made a quick survey of the room (it had been a long time since he'd been there), and then walked Nick into the bedroom.   
  
Once inside, Burton quickly pulled down the bed clothes, sat Nick down on the bed, and started helping him undress. Nick continued to make small groans as his father removed his shoes, pants, tie, and shirt. Satisfied that his son would be comfortable now, Burton assisted him to lie down, pulled up the covers, and said, Get some sleep, Nicholas. We'll talk about all this in the morning. Nick didn't answer, but rolled over on his side, facing away from his father. Burton walked to the door, turned off the light, and stood there in the dark for a moment, looking at his son. Letting out a heavy sigh, he left the room. Nick was asleep almost before the door closed.  
  
Returning to the main living area, Burton looked around for a moment before heading for the guest bathroom. He relieved himself, but as he reached for the toilet handle, he suddenly stopped, and dug the packet of coke out of his pocket. He stared at it for a few seconds with a look of extreme disgust and then poured the contents into the toilet, and flushed it away. He took the packet to the sink, washed out the remaining powder thoroughly, and then returned the empty packet to his pocket. As he washed his hands, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and thought, My God, how did we ever get to this point? His mind wandered back to the night his son was arrested.... The phone call late at night.... The feeling of panic and helplessness.... How he'd instinctively picked up the phone to dial Nick's long-deceased mother.... God.... He didn't want to have to experience that ever again.   
  
Those thoughts stirred others, and it occurred to Burton for the first time what might have happened if he hadn't been there tonight to stop the fight, and hustle Nick away. A shiver of fear ran up his back, and he felt a surge of adrenaline, Jesus, those SOBs might have seriously hurt Nick! They'd shown no sign of stopping their attack even though Nick was clearly laid out on the floor and helpless. The police might have shown up to break up the fight, and Nick could have been arrested. Almost certainly would have been arrested after they had discovered he was on probation. Burton reached into his pocket, almost unconsciously, and fingered the small plastic envelope. And of course, there was that -- that packet of the demon drug that had almost ruined his son's life once before, and now threatened to do so again. If the cops had found that.... Christ, what a mess that would have been! Burton shuddered at the thought, and sent up a silent pray of thanks that he had been there to prevent Nick from running head-on into disaster.  
  
Burton dried his hands, and decided to make one more quick check on Nick. After satisfying himself that his son was sleeping peacefully, he stepped back out into the hallway, opened the linen closet, and pulled a blanket off the shelf. Returning to the living room, he sat down heavily on the couch, and began to undress. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was after 2:40 in the morning. All of the sudden, he realized how very tired he was. He laid down with a grateful sigh, pulled the blanket up over him, and fell asleep.  
  
Toward dawn Burton woke up. It took a second for him to realize where he was. Then feeling nature's insistent call, he got up to use the bathroom. After he'd finished, he walked into the bedroom to check on Nick. He crossed to the far side of the bed where he could see Nick's face softly outlined in the dim glow of sunrise. As he stared down at his son he found himself thinking, My God, he looks so young with his face relaxed in sleep like that. He could almost be twelve years old again. As he stood there, Burton was flooded with a wave of love for his troubled, wayward son. He reached out a hand, and gently stroked Nick's hair. Nicholas, what am I going to do with you? he whispered to himself. Afterward, he headed back to the couch for another few hours of sleep.  
  
When Burton next woke it was 9:10AM. He laid there quietly for a few seconds, as the events of the last evening came flooding back. Finally he pulled himself into a sitting position, and rested his head in his hands, trying to prepare himself for the showdown ahead. After a few minutes, he paid another visit to the bathroom, and then peeked his head in the bedroom door to check on Nick. His son had changed his position (was facing toward the door now), but was still sound asleep. Burton could clearly see the swollen, discolored blotches now marring his handsome face. He shook his head in a mixture of disgust and sympathy, and returned to the living room.  
  
Burton dressed, and walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. Discovering he was hungry, he looked around for something to eat, and found some bagels and cream cheese. He fixed himself a plate, walked to the table, and sat down. As he waited for the coffee to brew he found himself thinking, My God, he's back on the drugs! I don't know if I can go through all this again. He sighed heavily. I've got to figure out how to approach him. Knowing Nicholas, if I do it the wrong way, he'll just get defensive, and shut me out. I've got to let him know I want to help him, not assign blame.   
  
When the coffee was ready, Burton sat down and drank a cup, while eating the bagel and cream cheese. Afterward, he placed the empty plate in the dishwasher, poured himself another cup of coffee, and walked back over to the couch. Seeing the television remote on the coffee table in front of him, he sat down, and flipped on the TV. As the set came on he quickly lowered the volume so as not to disturb Nick.  
  
( A few hours later)  
  
Nick woke up. As he started to return to consciousness he discovered that his head felt two sizes too large, and there was a dull thrum beating inside. His mouth tasted like something died in it. He started to roll over, and realized simultaneously that his gut really hurt and his jaw and face ached. Suddenly he remembered what had transpired the night before, and let out a low groan, hiding his face in the pillow (the bar...the fight...his father -- oh, God!). He laid like this for several seconds, not wanting to face the day, but soon his full bladder was telling him he had to get up. He sat up carefully, noting again how sore his abdomen was, and got out of bed. As he crossed the room, he noticed the bedroom door was closed -- he never closed the bedroom door. He stopped for a second to listen, and realized that he could hear the low sounds of the television. he thought to himself, that means Dad is still here. Christ.  
  
Nick walked into the bathroom, relieved himself, then reached for the medicine cabinet to get some aspirin. As his hand grasped the side of the door, he looked up, and saw himself in the mirror. His face was a mess! There was a large bruise on the left side of his chin, and another next to his right eye. His forehead was bruised, as well. His eyes were red and bloodshot. He stared at his reflection for a moment as a pained, shame-filled look came into his eyes. He lowered his head, and stood with his hands resting on either side of the sink, supporting his weight. All he could feel was shame. After a moment, Nick pulled himself upright, retrieved the aspirin from the cabinet, and swallowed three. Then grabbing a washcloth, he gingerly washed his aching face. Next he brushed his teeth. After all this, he felt a little more human. Stealing another glance in the mirror, he grimaced, and walked slowly into the bedroom. He pulled on a Pittsburgh Pirates sweat suit, then walked to the door. Nick paused for a second, mentally steeling himself for the meeting with his father. He opened the door, and walked slowly into the living room.  
  
Burton looked up when he heard the door, and watched Nick walk into the room. Nick gave him a slightly abashed, slightly defensive look. Burton said pleasantly, Morning, Nicholas. There's coffee if you want some. It's a couple hours old, but I can make a fresh pot. Nick nodded, walked over and sat down at the kitchen table, but not without a groan of pain escaping his lips. He rested his aching head in one hand, and watched his father as Burton made the coffee. Then Nick said, Was it my imagination, or did I see you threaten those two guys with a broken beer bottle last night? Burton looked up, half grinned, and said, No, that wasn't your imagination. Nick shook his head slowly. That's a sight I never expected to see.   
  
Old habits die hard, son. Let's just call it a remnant of my misspent youth. Burton smiled, and Nick half-smiled in return. I used to spend a lot of time in steelworker bars. Those were rough places. I had to resort to a broken bottle on more than one occasion.  
  
Did you ever cut anybody?  
  
Nooo. The threat was usually enough to scare them off. I got cut once, though. Here, I think you can still see the scar. He walked over to the table, rolled up his shirt-sleeve, and revealed a long, thin white scar. Yeah, there it is. Nick made a pretense of looking at his father's war wound.  
  
Burton walked back into the kitchen, and pulled a coffee cup from the cabinet for Nick. You hungry? These bagels of yours are pretty tasty. Nicks shook his head, and looked down. Burton returned to the table, set the cup in front of Nick, and said, So, how you feeling this morning? Nick looked up, and lied, Then averted his gaze again. They sat in uncomfortable silence until the coffee finished brewing. Burton poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself and Nick. He allowed Nick to take a few sips before beginning in on his prepared speech.  
  
Nicholas, we need to talk about last night. As Burton uttered the words, Nick looked like he was about to say something. Burton quickly put up his hand to stop him. Now, I don't want to fight. Believe me, son, that's the last thing I want to do. I just want to help. But I can't do that unless I know what's going on. He paused. Nick was still studying the patterns of the table top unhappily. Burton pulled the empty cocaine packet out of his trousers, and laid it on the table. This fell out of your pocket last night when you were getting out your keys. Nick looked up, startled. I disposed of the contents. Son, how long have you been back on this stuff? Nick turned his face away, but continued his silence. Burton said, Nicholas, talk to me.... Son?   
  
Nick let out a long, pain-filled sigh, and decided to confess, Since Tuesday.   
  
, Burton said calmly. He added silently to himself, You started at Kirk & McGee on Monday, and you're using on Tuesday. Jesus Christ! He continued out loud, Why son? Nick didn't answer.   
  
Burton tried again, Is this about Kirk & McGee? Does it have something to do with your job there? Nick still didn't reply. It's not quite what you expected, is it, Nick?  
  
Nick didn't raise his head, but finally spoke,   
  
You know you can always come back to the firm, son. I'd like you to come back. I, uh, probably should have tried harder to get you to stay in the first place.... You know, all you have to do is say the word, and your old job is yours. You know that. What do you say?  
  
Nick looked up, and met his father's gaze,   
  
Okay, then, that's settled.... But, son, there must be something else. Just because you were unhappy at Kirk & McGee, that wouldn't drive you back to this stuff, would it?  
  
Nick looked unhappy, but remained silent.  
  
Does it have something to do with the anniversary of your mother's death? I know...I know that's always hard on you, but this.... His voice trailed off, as he gestured to the empty plastic packet. Nicholas?... I need you to talk to me, son.  
  
Nick drew a deep breath, and started in, Everything...everything just sort of snowballed on me -- the memories of-of Mom's death.... I hated it at Kirk & McGee.... The Sloane deal... He looked up at his father guiltily as he said this last sentence. He returned his gaze back to the tabletop, and continued. I think I could have handled it all, if, if....  
  
If what, son?  
  
Nick didn't answer right away, but finally said, If I hadn't seen my old dealer at Kirk & McGee.  
  
The word exploded out of Burton's mouth.  
  
Nick shot his father a sidelong, apprehensive look, and said quickly, He, he wasn't there to see me. He was there to see somebody else, but he, uh, came into my office afterwards. There was a long pause before Nick continued. He did a line of coke right there, right there in front of me...in my office. Another pause. When he left I saw there was some powder left on the credenza.... He bowed his head, and couldn't continue.  
  
Burton looked at his son with a mixture of frustration and compassion. God, Nicholas.  
  
Nick's eyes were wet, and he couldn't bring himself to meet his father's gaze. His head was killing him, and it was taking all he had just to keep the tears at bay. Burton considered the situation for a moment, and then said quietly, So, are you hooked on this stuff again? Do we need to check you back into rehab?  
  
Nick straightened up, and this time looked his father in the eye. No. No, I think I can do it on my own. I, uh, I just slipped, that's all. It was just a slip.  
  
Burton stared at his son in silence, not knowing if he should push the issue, or leave it alone. Finally, he drew a deep breath, and said, Okay.... Okay.... But son, I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that if that dealer gets in touch with you again, you'll let me know. I need your word on that, son.  
  
Nick looked at his father. Finally shook his head, , and said, Okay. Yeah, okay.  
  
The End


End file.
